Tears and Bullets: A Soldier's Story
by killernightengale
Summary: Levi didn't sign up for this war out of patriotism, but because he needed a way to feed himself and his family without going into the coal mines. Vietnam is dangerous, but Levi has determination. Main pair: Levi and Erwin, with sprinkles of Levi and Petra. Other characters make an appearance, but are of little importance to the plot. Character death, violence, and sexual themes.
1. Prologue

Prologue: August 12, 1980

"Hey, papa? How did you and daddy meet?" Erwin looks up from his newspaper, his sixteen year old daughter looking at him hopefully. In his 37 years, he'd said no to many people, but he had a hard time saying no to this pretty little girl with her father's stormy eyes. Levi broke the silence. "People die in that story Sophia. It's not appropriate for a young lady to hear. We'll tell you when you're older." Sophia pouted. "Oh come on, Daddy! You've said that since I was little. Please? Can you at least tell me about how you and mom got together? I barely remember mom. I was only six when she died, you know? You've barely spoken about her." Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he'd picked up since he'd hung up his uniform. "I said later, Sophie. I mean it. There's chores you need to do before you can go over to Alice's house. I've already boxed up the junk in the attic, go ahead and take it to the curb. After that, clean your room. Erwin, mind helping me with the kitchen?" Erwin smiled at his husband and stood. "Certainly, dear."

Sophia huffed and watched as her fathers headed to the kitchen. She was plenty old enough to deal with a little death and sadness, particularly when the story had such a happy ending. She sighed and headed to the hallway and tugged the string that would bring down the ladder to the attic. She hated the attic. It was the only place in the house that wasn't spotlessly clean. It was tidy, but dusty and smelled faintly of mold. Memories. She glanced around and found the box daddy Levi had been talking about. She took slow, measured steps towards the box, bending to examine the contents. There were old clothes, magazines, a few children's books, and on top, there was a decent sized, leather bound book. Something called her to open it. She knelt next to the box, took the book, and cracked it open. The leather spine gave a creak of protest having not been opened in so long, and it smelled like old paper and leather. The neat, flowing handwriting was familiar. It was her father's. She felt as if she were reading something she shouldn't be. The first entry was dated 'May 23, 1960.'

"_Hanj gave me this journal in one of her strange attempts to get me to "open up." She seems to think that I internalize my emotions and shit too much. Crazy four eyed hag. I feel stupid for even writing in this thing, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to humor her. She is one of my only friends, after all. Nothing too exciting has been going on. Dad's still a drunk asshat who is never home, and I still have to deal with a bunch of dillweeds who like to pick on the short kid. Hanji blew something up in chemistry again. No surprise there." _Sophia snapped the journal shut, instantly feeling guilty. She placed the book back on top and picked the box up, manuevering herself back down the narrow ladder. Once safely on the ground, she raised the ladder, and let the trap door swing shut. "Hey daddy?" she called, headed towards the kitchen. Her father leaned around the doorframe, papa Erwin joining him a second later. "What is it, hon?" he asked. She held up the journal. "Are you sure you want to throw this out? It looks important." His eyes landed on the journal, his stormy eyes contemplating it.

"Keep it. You want to know about how Erwin and I met, how we ended up where we are, why we are the way we are... read that. It can tell you all the things I've never been able to say. It's sort of an abridged history. I don't remember going into gory details, but it'll at least tell you the things you want to know. When you finish it, do what ever you want with it. I don't need it, I know what it says." She wasn't sure, but it seemed that her father was grateful she found it. "Are you sure, daddy? This seems pretty private..." he laughed. "That entire subject is a minefield of private matters and memories that leave a bad taste in my mouth, but you've pestered us for so long it seems wrong not to tell you. So, read it. But finish your chores first, brat." With that, both men disappeared back into the kitchen, papa Erwin throwing her an odd smile and a wink. She smiled, set the journal on the coffee table, and took the box outside, setting it on the curb next to the trashcan for the garbage collectors to grab in the morning. She felt giddy, she was finally going to learn about the past she was so fascinated with.


	2. Chapter 1

I feel I should give a little warning: Levi is an angsty teenager with no friends. There are some suicidal thoughts and some tendancies toward self harm and obsessive behavior and child neglect. If that will make you uncomfortable (like... too uncomfortable to deal with) don't read this, please.

Chapter One: Cold Hands

December 24, 1960

Levi heaved a sigh, watching with dull eyes as the column of steam rose from his mouth and cut through the night air. He felt his earnings from the diner in his pocket, ripe for spending... on groceries. He and his father were out of almost everything and if he didn't go to the store tonight, they'd be eating peanut butter sandwiches. It was dark, and getting late. He knew his father was home now, and probably hungry and more than a little drunk and impatient. He sighed again. He was turning fifteen tomorrow. He wouldn't be getting anything, and he didn't expect it, but he didn't even have a friend to enjoy the day with. He would work at the diner for under the table pay, he would come home to an empty house, and he would be alone. His father never spent his birthday with him. It fell on a Friday this year, so he'd be at the local pub, drinking away his sorrows. The sorrows of losing his wife so that his son could live, of working his hands to the bone in dark mine shafts for pathetic pay, and many other grievances that his father carried. He didn't blame him. He understood that he'd loved his mother greatly, and he took her from him... and because of that, he couldn't love him. He was a burden, a chore, a responsibility, but not one of joy. Levi shivered as a sharp wind cut through his threadbare coat. His father often scoffed when he saw him shudder. 'If you think this is cold, boy; then you are weaker than you look. Poland would have killed you.' He remembered those words well, and knew them to be true.

He was weak. His father never failed to mention it. 'Get out of the way, boy. You can't do anything right,' or 'Did your premature birth stunt more than your physical development?' The insults didn't hurt anymore, thankfully. He didn't cry like a child when his father belittled him, because that was a weakness his father hated above all, and really it was all he deserved. His father was always right, and he knew that. A sudden noise from a nearby alley made him jump, but he'd walked this path everyday for two years, and nothing had ever happened. Aberdeen was a fairly safe town, since no one would dare cause trouble in a company owned city. He didn't move to investigate, but he did pick up the pace a little. As he rounded the next corner, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. There were more than one set, so that meant there were at least two. He dared not turn around, and instead moved quicker, hoping that a car would pass, or maybe the footsteps would fade away. He feared that if he ran, it would simply make the people behind him persue him harder. The footsteps were close now, and he took a deep breath and willed himself to be brave. "Hey there, Sokolof. What's a runt like you doing out by yourself after dark?" The voice was taunting and he'd recognize it anywhere. Thomas Aberdeen tormented him every chance he got. He kept walking, breathing easier now that he could see the company store ahead. "Hey, bitch don't ignore me!" There was a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. "Going home, princess?" Thomas leered at him, his two friends laughing. "Oh, he looks scared, Tom. Maybe you should be gentle." Thomas laughed.

"Oh yeah. He won't feel a thing." With that, Thomas grabbed him by his coat and slung him roughly into the alley. His back hit the brick wall, and it knocked his breath right out of him. "Okay Sokolof. Turn out your pockets." Levi growled quietly. He stood his ground. Thomas Aberdeen didn't need his money. He never needed to worry about eating. He could have whatever he wanted. His father owned the damn mine, so he had real money, not the worthless company scrip. "C'mon Sokolof. Like you could fight me for it. Just hand it over. You don't want to know what I'll do if you don't." Levi knew that. Of course he did. He would wind up muddy and hurting, and his father would be angry. He'd be livid because Levi had failed again. He'd been too weak again... but at least if he stood his ground, no one could say he didn't try. The first punch landed hard in his stomach, leaving a sick feeling behind. The next blow landed on his ribs. "Hey Tom, he's pretty skinny. I bet you could break his neck if you tried." Thomas laughed and shoved him roughly to the filthy ground. They were kicking him now. It hurt. His slender fingers groped for something that would anchor him, to keep him from melting into the riot of pain that was currently exploding in every nerve. He hardly heard their insults, used to them as he was. There was 'fag,' 'Polack,' 'Jew,' 'Gypsy,' 'Piker,' among others. He was too used to it to care. "Empty out his pockets and let's go." One of his cronies flipped him onto his back, took his scrip, stomped his slim chest once more, and they left him there, laughing and congratulating each other.

Laying there in an empty alley, Levi wondered if there was even a point in going home. His father wouldn't miss him... and he'd just be angry anyway. He sighed and curled in on himself. He was useless. Useless, useless, useless. He'd cry if he thought it mattered enough. His body hurt and he was cold and hungry. His hands were freezing, and he wondered if he were to pull his gloves off, if his fingers would be turning a different color... maybe they were bruised? He forced himself to sit up, his head spinning and his stomach reeling. He trembled, but he wasn't sure if it was from the cold, or the shock of what just happened. He struggled to his feet, his legs shaking violently beneath him. His first few steps towards home were painful, and his vision blurred a little. He wondered vaguely if they broke anything. It hurt to breathe, to walk, to think, and because of that, the walk home was agonizingly slow. He lived on the opposite side of town with the other immigrant families. His house was one of the shabbier ones on their lane, but it was all he knew of home. His lane was occupied almost entirely by Polish families, though a few black families lived nearby, too. He felt worse for them than anyone. Not only were they poor, they were also treated like dirt. He always tried to smile when he saw them. They were uncomfortable at first; but eventually they would return them. It was a quiet kind of protest, but it was all Levi could do for them. He'd been trudging towards his house for about thirty minutes now, and every step was pure agony. He was so cold now that he could hardly feel his fingers and toes. He'd finally reached his street, but his house was all the way at the end. He was a pitiful sight, he was sure. He could feel himself limping and shivering. His father would be disgusted.

He took a steadying breath and hobbled up the road. Lights in the windows looked warm and welcoming, but there were no arms there to hold him. They all had their own problems, and no one wanted him, anyway. He was too small, too weak, too useless. He had nothing to offer anyone in exchange for their love. He stood in front of his house, afraid to enter. He shrugged, knowing it was time to get it over with. He counted the steps that lead him into his home, empty handed. As the door opened, his father emerged from the main room, surprisingly sober. "What the hell happened to you, boy?" Levi looked down, and told his father what had transpired. His father crossed his arms. "So. You came back into this house and didn't even try to come up with a good reason? Stupid brat, get out of my sight." Levi scurried by his father, glad that he never hit him. He wasn't sure if he could withstand another blow. Once inside his room, he succumbed to the pain and exhaustion. He fell onto his bed, the old boxspring groaning in protest to his slight weight. He could shower and brush his teeth when his father fell asleep. It wouldn't be long, since his father was up before sunrise every morning. He managed to kick his shoes off without too much work and crawled under his blankets. He curled in on himself once more, willing himself to ignore the pain in his ribs. He knew there were ugly bruises blooming across his torso, but they'd refrained from hitting his face. They didn't want anyone asking about it. He wiggled out of his coat, pushing the sleeves of his thermal shirt up to his elbows. He looked at the purple marks that ran across his slender wrists.

He remembered the thoughts that put each one there. 'I'm useless,' 'I'm weak,' 'No one will miss me,' 'No one can love me,' and 'This world will be better when I'm gone.' He never cut deep enough to do more than draw blood. Something stopped him from going farther. Some sense of anticipation... like there was something he needed to wait for. So he did. He waited. He bled for relief, to feel something, but he hadn't yet bled to die. He wasn't sure he necessarily wanted to die, but he knew that there was nothing to live for, either. It was a depressing place to be, but he stayed because it was his place. It was all he knew. He froze as he heard his father's footsteps stomping past his room. The door shook violently as he gave it a kick, but he said nothing and soon enough he heard the click of his door shutting. Levi breathed deeply, calming his racing thoughts and thundering pulse. He staggered to his feet and limped to his dresser, pulling out what he'd need for sleep tonight. Upon checking to see that the coast was clear, Levi moved to the bathroom as quietly as he could. It was on the opposite end of the house, away from the bedrooms; so Levi didn't have to really worry about disturbing his father. He closed the door behind him with a faint thud, and for the first time that night, he looked at himself in the foggy, cracked mirror. He looked awful. He was paler than he had been earlier that day, and there was mud smudged on his cheeks.

Levi grimaced as he peeled his shirt off. He took the time to study the bruising. It looked a bit like a Rorsach inkblot. It bloomed from the center of his chest and scrawled across his ribs and up to his prominant collarbone. It could be pretty if it didn't hurt so badly. He found more when he dropped his pants. These were smaller and fainter, and one set was the distinct impression of fingertips in his thigh. He sighed as he let the water run over his hand. It wasn't getting warmer than room temperature, which wasn't unusual. Their hot water heater only worked right half of the time, but such was the lot of the poor residents of Aberdeen. He stepped under the tepid spray and immediately began scrubbing the dirt from his hair. He scrubbed at his scalp until it felt clean enough, then moved methodically downward. His face was next, and he scrubbed at it mercilessly with a soapy rag. By the time he finished, the water was frigid and his skin was raw and painful... but finally clean. He toweled himself dry, sighing in relief. He always felt better after a shower, like removing dirt from himself somehow made him less ugly inside and out. He refrained from looking in the mirror afterwards, knowing what he saw would only make him unhappy. He hated how he looked. He was too small, too thin, his features too sharp, and his complexion was sallow and sickly. No one would ever call him handsome, and he held people at arms length at all times, so no one could ever see him as anything but an awkward, scrawny Polish boy. He winced as he pulled his shirt on, covering his bruises and bony body. He brushed his teeth with the same ferocious methodology, trying to scrub every germ from his teeth. As he snuck back to his room, he replayed the events of the day.

He could only hope that tomorrow would be better. It was his birthday, after all... and Christmas, for those that celebrated it. His father was nothing but disdainful of the holiday. Hanukkah had already come and gone, not that he or his father were particularly devout. His father had tried to Americanize himself as much as possible, and that meant adopting American religion and American opinions. Levi himself was fluent in Polish and English, but he spoke very little Yiddish (mostly just insults), and his mother had passed away before she could pass on any of her people's traditions or knowledge. She'd been a fortune teller named Florica in Warsaw. That was almost all he knew. He'd seen her in photographs, and she was very pretty; almost doll like with her small stature and inky hair. He'd asked his father what color her eyes were; and, because times were easier then, he'd replied: 'The same as yours.' It had been a simple response, no hatred, no bitterness. Just an honest response. He missed those times. He was younger then, maybe five or six. His father was home more, he tried to be a loving father, but as Levi grew, he began to look more and more like her. His father drifted away entirely when he was eight and never really looked at him again. On his eighth birthday, his father had cupped his cheek, and told him he looked like his mother. He told him he was lovely and had kissed his forehead. That was the last time he touched him. After that, his father had nothing but disgust for him. He asked himself what he missed, what he'd done, for he must have done something... but he couldn't think of anything he'd done.

He shut out his light and collapsed onto his bed, curling into a tight ball in an effort to still his shivering. Despite being cold and hungry, he actually felt rather content to just lay there in the dark. He never had been afraid of it like many children were. To him, the darkness was warm and welcome, like a velvet blanket that covered everything that was ugly in the world and made it invisible for the time being. He could close his eyes and imagine smiles and laughter, warmth and soothing words. He smiled softly, his posture relaxing, the pain in his small body ebbing away as the warm tendrils of sleep curled through his limbs. His eyes grew heavy and his breathing became deeper and more even, and the topor claimed him at last. In his sleep, he could feel gentle fingers tracing across his back, up each knot of his spine, across his shoulders and across his neck. The phantom fingers played with the ends of his hair, allowing it to slip like gossamer through them, message his scalp, and trace lines across his cheeks, leaving butterfly kisses on his eyelids before resting on his lips, thoughtful and silent. The touches left warmth and a kind of lightness in his heart. This is what he is waiting for. This touch is what should keep him anchored to the world. The owner of these fingers would love him. He just needs to hold on. It can be easy. Just hold on. Hold on...

Sorry for the delay. I know I took forever to finish this chapter, and all that. I just wasn't happy with the way it was working out. For those of you who are wondering, this work is a slow burn, so please: don't ask me when things will happen. Just let it go. Enjoy the story. If you are wondering, Levi's family came from Warsaw, Poland in 1940, before the Nazis closed the ghetto and trapped thousands of Jewish families there. For more information on it, google the Warsaw Ghetto. He's half Polish and half Romani, for those who are confused by the slurs used earlier. I never liked the idea of him being French, since he looks more Eastern European to me. Just my opinion. Anyhow, please keep an eye out for chapter two, I'll try to get it written by Christmas.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Warm Hearts

December, 25 1960

Levi woke to the sharp sound of the front door closing. His father wasn't exactly a quiet man, and he never bothered to tiptoe around his sleeping son. He glanced at his alarm clock and groaned; it was only five in the morning, and because it was Christmas day, the diner didn't open until noon. He rolled over onto his side, ignoring the way pain shot through him. He knew there wasn't really any point in lingering in bed when he'd never go back to sleep. He sighed and allowed his mind to drift back to his dream, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He'd had that dream for a while now, and it seemed the phantom's fingers became bolder every time. The first time, they'd only trailed absently up his arm and it had startled him so badly that he'd jolted awake and spent the rest of the night trying to calm himself down. Soon, he began to crave that touch. He didn't know who it belonged to, or if it was just a delusion thought up by a lonely boy to comfort him; but somehow, he didn't think so. He liked to think that it was a promise, a reward for his patience. He stretched gingerly, his ribs protesting, but it felt good in a strange way. He grunted and managed to haul himself up from the bed and walked into the main room. Nothing really looked out of the ordinary, but it did seem like the atmosphere was a little kinder. He entered the kitchen and found a note and some scrip on the kitchen table. He took the note with trembling fingers, hope thrumming in his veins. '_Levi, don't lose it this time. Get yourself something. And eat. You look like you just came from Auschwitz._' Levi felt tears sting the corners of his eyes. It didn't matter that his father gave him money, what mattered was that he took the time to write a note and express some kind of concern.

Levi smiled and folded the bills, and fetched a pen. He wrote a quick 'thank you' at the bottom below his father's note and decided that he should clean the house. Bending and reaching hurt, but he wanted his father to come home to a clean house, and maybe they could even have dinner together. Maybe he wouldn't go to the pub tonight. Maybe he'd come home and sleep enough like he should. His father had been coughing a lot more than usual lately, and he feared he was catching a cold. Levi scrubbed at the floor in the kitchen until his fingers ached and his back screamed for normal posture, and he still didn't find it clean enough, but he needed to get ready for work soon. The house was cleaner and smelled of pine, that should lighten the mood. He gathered clean clothes for the day and padded his way to the bathroom. He smelled like sweat and cleaning products, and the patrons at the diner would be grossed out if he didn't clean up. Turning the nobs on the tub, he jolted as the water gushed out scalding hot. He smiled. So far, things were actually going well for him. He stood under the hot water for longer than he meant to, simply enjoying the way it made his skin burn and turn red, and loosened the knots in his back and shoulders. He didn't scrub so hard this time, and didn't feel as afraid to face himself in the mirror. It was funny seeing himself so red in the face, like he was sunburned. He focused on himself in the smokey glass, deciding that something about the person looking back wasn't so bad. He had a nice smile.

Now that he was washed and dressed in some of his nicer clothes, he felt human again. He didn't feel so dirty or empty. He pocketed the money his father had given him and slipped into his coat. He still had an hour and a half before he needed to be at the diner, so maybe he could go and get some breakfast. The nearest place was a thirty minute walk, a little cafe on the corner near the courthouse. The Ral's cafe was open from ten to seven on holidays and they served the best coffee he'd ever had. He looked decent enough to not look so out of place in the pristine room with its ivory walls and dark wood floors. Maybe he could even see her. Maybe she'd smile at him, her green eyes and ginger hair shining in the morning sunlight. Petra was beautiful and warm, and a world away from him. She was like the sun, brilliant and constant. They'd never really spoken, or been very close; the nearest he'd ever gotten was in fifth grade when she'd sat three rows away. He'd always been too shy to look at her directly, and 'hello' felt like a lead weight in his throat and tasted like ash. The few times he'd passed her in the hall he'd tried to say something... anything, and it never came. She'd pass by without looking at him. Maybe today would be different. He took a deep breath and stepped outside into the white washed town and shivered in the morning air. It was cold, but not as cold as it had been last night thanks to the sun shining overhead. He took his first few steps towards the cafe, already thinking about coffee with cream and food. His stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch and he realized he hadn't eaten since lunchtime the day before. He was used to skipping meals, which undoubtedly attributed to his skinny figure. There weren't really any other people outside their homes right now, so Aberdeen was silent, resembling a cheap Christmas card. Shifts would be short at the mine today, so that the workers could rest or spend time with their families, but his father usually pulled a double shift so that he could make a little extra money.

Levi's income from the diner was very small, though it would go up once he could work for them legally. The Johnsons had treated him fairly for the two years he'd worked for them, and he was grateful for their kindness. They'd constantly tried to have him befriend their son, but Levi was too shy around other people and the larger boy made him nervous; he spoke too loud, moved too quick, and had really bad personal hygiene. It wasn't that he didn't want friends, but he had no idea how to go about making them. Everyone who got close to him either wanted to hurt him or were indifferent, seeing nothing of note when they looked at him. Levi couldn't help but feel that maybe his heart was too far away for new people to navigate their way to it, like an oasis in a desert or a warm tropical island when all you see is a slow moving glacier. Maybe people had tried to reach out, but got lost along the way and they just wandered around and around in circles. He didn't like when people reached out to touch it, and so he used his sharp tongue to pull their hand away like one would wrench and infant away from a raging house fire. The sting of his words was enough to make a person flinch away and pretend he'd never said anything. He hated himself for wanting Petra to waltz into his heart, to leave her fingerprints on the dusty tabletops and muddy shoes in the foyer; to shine a light on the neglected corners and clear out the selfdoubt and selfhatred like cobwebs. He wanted it more than anything, but he didn't know how to tell her. He wasn't good at asking for things, he didn't like doing it. He hated sounding needy. He shook his head, trying to clear his dark thoughts. Today had been good so far. He needed to keep it that way. Good days were scarce, and often came at a price. So far, this one seemed to have no strings attached. He stopped on the corner, his destination in sight.

He could see the cafe across the street and could smell the smoke from its wood burning stove. It was a welcoming smell, one that spoke of warmth and food. He placed his hand on the handle and giving it a soft tug. The bell above the door gave a soft chime as he stepped over the threshold, some patrons casting a curious eye at the new interloper. Mrs. Ral smiled softly at him and motioned for him to follow her to his table. "Good mornin', honey. I haven't seen you in a while; how are you?" she asked. He took a breath before answering, trying to get his voice to work. "I'm okay." He kept his answer short, not wanting to sound anymore awkward than he felt around others. "You're limpin' a little, sugar. You hurt?" He gave a jerky shake of his head. "I fell last night. Its just a sprain. I'm okay." His response came out a little more clipped than he meant for it to. She cast a puzzled look over her shoulder, but said nothing, just handed him his menu and took out her notepad. "Well, don't overdo it. What can I get you to drink?" He opened the menu out of habit. "Coffee, please." Mrs. Ral hummed softly. "That's gonna stunt your growth, you know? You want cream?" He shot her a short glare before responding. "Yes, please." She nodded and walked away to fetch his coffee. Levi glanced at the menu before closing it and setting it aside, he already knew what he wanted. He glanced out the window and waited, watching as birds swooped in and out of view. The clinking of a coffee mug brought his attention back to the present, and he nearly jumped when he looked in a much younger face. Petra smiled softly, and he found that he had to look away. "Good morning; Levi, right? I don't think we've ever been able to talk." He fidgetted, looking anywhere but at her.

"Y-yeah... um... hi?" She giggled, and pushed his cup of coffee towards him and gently placed the pitcher of half and half next to it. "So, what can I get you today?" she asked, pulling out her own pen and notepad, her expression of concentration too cute to ignore. "Oh... uh... biscuits and gravy, two fried eggs and some apple slices will be fine." The words come out quickly, but she catches it. "No bacon or anything? You need a little more meat on your bones, you know?" He cleared his throat and looked deliberately at his coffee. "Umm... no... I'm okay. I don't eat pork." Petra had to strain to hear the last part of the sentence, but when she did, she berated herself. "Oh gosh! I'm so sorry, I forgot!" He shook his head, looking terribly apologetic for her blunder. "Oh, no... it's okay. It's not like you know me." Petra was struck by his painful shyness. She had friends in every social circle, she never felt shy or uncertain... but this boy could hardly look her in the eye or correct her. He seemed to ignore everything anyone ever said or did. She'd never seen him speak to a person at school like they were friends, when asked a question, he almost whispered, and he never defended himself when someone made fun of him, usually choosing to remain silent or roll his eyes and walk away. She'd never been this close to him before. She knew he was tiny, but she hadn't realized just how small he really was. His wrists were thin, and he looked delicate; like the bone china her mother had inherited from her grandmother. She studied his face a moment, noting the fine bone structure and angular features before locking gazes with him. He had the saddest eyes she'd ever seen. They were a very pretty steely gray, but there was no light in them. He looked down again, his messy black hair falling into his face, casting shadows on his pale cheeks. He was pretty in a tragic kind of way, like broken glass glinting in the sun. "Petra!" Petra jumped, and felt a pang of guilt when she saw how Levi tried to make himself look smaller, obviously afraid he'd gotten her in trouble.

"Coming! Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you, we'll have this right out." She dipped her head and scurried off without a second glance. Levi took a deep, shuddering breath. This was a terrible idea. He should have just treated her like he treated everyone. She could have avoided that painfully awkward conversation completely, she wouldn't have had to look at him for so long, she wouldn't have gotten in trouble, she wouldn't have had that look on her face. She would have kept smiling instead of giving in to the miasma that followed him everywhere, stealing joy from strangers. '_Burden_.' That was all he was. He looked at his coffee again. He didn't want it anymore, nor was he hungry. He should just put his money on the table and leave. Just when he decided he would, Petra was back with his meal in her hand. Instead of simply putting in front of him and walking away, she plopped herself down in the chair across from him. He must have looked surprised because she giggled. "I'm on break. I thought we could get to know each other a little. You look lonely." He felt panic building. She was spending her time on him, but what did he have to offer? He didn't have anything to tell her that would be of any interest. "Oh... you don't have to. I'm not that interesting..." Petra sighed and reached across the table, touching his slender hand, which he pulled away quickly with a startled gasp and rose painting his cheeks. "Sure you are. How about this: I'll talk, you eat. Sound fair?" He gave a jerky little nod and put his head down, immediately tucking into his meal. Petra rambled about what she'd done since school had let out, the volunteer work she was doing that night, anything that came to mind; though she made a point to avoid anything that would point out how much more money her family had. She'd seen Levi around for years, like one would see an old photograph; faded and gray, but his poverty had never escaped her. Levi ate like she would take it from him, and it made her heart hurt.

She'd never had to worry about where her next meal would come from. As business owners in Aberdeen, she and her parents were well off. They made real money, which was actually worth something outside of this dusty little mining town. She'd go to college and move out of West Virginia. The boy sitting across from her might not get that chance. She didn't know about Levi's parents, but she could tell by how he was dressed that his father was one of the miners. She wondered vaguely what kind of life he lead. Did his father treat him kindly? Was his mother warm like her own? She wasn't an expert by any means, but she understood body language pretty well and she'd seen children at the battered women's shelter she volunteered at that behaved similarly. She'd never seen any bruises like they had, though, but then again she never stopped to look. His posture was defensive and downright unfriendly, like a cornered animal. He hadn't looked up at her since he'd begun eating, and even though he was eating quickly, he had good manners, and they seemed to be ingrained so it was taught to him by someone. When he finished eating, he sipped his coffee in silence, still listening to her talk. She smiled when he looked at her over the rim of his mug. He looked slightly calmer now, if only a little. She wondered if maybe he just needed to get used to another person's pressence before he could function, or maybe that's just how he got when there was food in front of him. Maybe he really had been afraid she was going to take it from him and he was just instinctively protecting it. She wanted to know more about him, not just what she could infer about him from what she saw.

He was shy and nervous around new people, he seemed to have trouble opening up, and he was a victim of bullying. She knew that much. But what made him smile, or laugh? What did he like to do in his spare time? Petra wanted him to be her friend. She sighed. He was looking out the window now, a faraway look in his stormy eyes. She wanted him to say something. Anything. He had a pretty voice that hardly matched his slight stature and she liked the way it washed over her. "Hey, Levi?" He looked at her silently. "Do you think we could do this again sometime? I like talking with you." He flushed a little but gave a small nod with an expression that read 'if that's what makes you happy.' She smiled, feeling giddy. "Maybe we can meet at the park around lunch tomorrow? What do you think?" He thought a moment. "That should be okay." He broke eye contact and looked back out the window, clutching his now empty cup in both hands. Her break would be over soon, but she resolved to show him a little more kindness. She stood, which drew his attention back to her. He looked up, surprised by her sudden move. "Well, I guess I should get back to it. Thank you for humoring me, you're sweet." She leaned in quickly, her lips pressing to his cheek. He smelled faintly of soap and something warm that she couldn't quite place. When she pulled back, she saw surprise, innocent confusion, and something like wonder in his eyes. Sad or not, they were beautiful. She pulled away quickly, almost as surprised by what she did as he was. She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and excused herself, leaving Levi to gape at her like a fish out of water. She rushed into the kitchen, breaking line of sight with the sad, pretty boy.

Petra watched from around the corner as he rose automatically from his chair, threw some bills down on the table and stood, ready to pay and be on his way. She let her mother take care of it, she wasn't sure she could look him in the eye for now. He looked composed now, and she envied his ability to bury whatever he was feeling. She'd never been able to hide her emotions. She sighed in relief when he left, glad that she'd get a chance to clear her head and figure out just what she was feeling. "So... what was all that about, honey? He doesn't seem your type. A little too quiet and... well... I know it's not a nice thing to say, but... he just doesn't seem like he comes from a good family. I don't want you getting mixed up with someone who might get you into trouble." Petra bristled. "Mama! Levi isn't a bad person at all. He just needs someone to be kind once in a while." Her mother shook her head. "Honey, he looked ready to bite. Your daddy was about ready to toss him out, he's never really liked it when he comes in here, you know? He makes other patrons uncomfortable. Whatever you think you see, I can almost promise it isn't there." Petra was growing more upset by the second. Her mother was always understanding and kind. Why couldn't she see what she saw? "He just looks like a hoodlum, that's all I'm saying. He's got mean eyes." _Mean? _Levi's eyes had been anything but mean. While his body language was unfriendly, his eyes were sad and lonely, and begging her to reach out and soothe the hurt. "Mama. There's nothing mean in him. He's... sad and lonely. He needs a friend, someone who will accept him. I think I can help him." Her mother sighed, her lips thinning. "You're too nice for your own good. Alright. I don't like it, and I don't want you hanging around him... but you're going to do it anyway. Just be careful, you hear me?" Petra looked out the window and watched his small form huddled against the wind, growing smaller with every step. Careful of what? Getting hurt? No. _Hurting him._

Levi could still feel the tingle of warm breath brushing against his cheek. Petra had kissed him. _She had kissed him._ Of all the things he expected out of the day, this was pretty low on the list. And she wanted to see him again. She wanted to meet up and talk. He loved it, of course. He couldn't deny it even if he wanted to. His heart was still pounding and if he weren't so good at schooling his emotions, he'd probably dance through the streets like an idiot. He hadn't even managed to muster a defense, he hadn't managed to fight it, she snuck easily under his guard and made him feel hopeful. He was so caught up in his joy that he barely noticed the ache in his legs and ribs. The pain was far outweighed by the warmth curling through him at that moment. This really was the best birthday he'd ever had. Everything looked different, like he was seeing color for the first time. He'd been so surprised, and he knew that he should have pushed her away; but he was weak and got greedy... but she wanted to do it. She wanted to talk to him, to press those soft lips to his face... he couldn't claim responsibility for it, right? He rubbed the back of his neck, groaning as his inner conflict reached a boiling point. "God damn it... get ahold of yourself, moron." He took a deep breath and headed toward the diner for another night of washing dishes and helping Mrs. Johnson cook Christmas dinner for the lazy ones who didn't want to do any work, or those who really didn't have the time. He'd hardly even noticed the time that had passed, only vaguely registering that he'd reached the back entrance of the diner.

Kirk's was a small establishment that looked careworn and dingy outside, its walls blackened with the coal dust that drifted in the air over the years, but inside it was clean and pleasant, its dining area painted a cheery pastel yellow. Levi removes his coat and slips into his apron, pushing his sleeves midway up his wrists, just below where the scars start. Mrs. Johnson nearly smashes into him when she rounds the corner and steps back with a gasp, her pudgy hand resting on her chest. "Gracious, hun. I didn't expect you in so early. Today's Christmas, you didn't have to come in. You should be at home resting." Levi snorted, humor sneaking its way into his voice. "And what, pray tell, would I do today, ma'am?" She huffed, a smile spreading onto her face. "You work too much. You could have at least taken your birthday off, Levi." He shrugged. Just because today had been kind to him (incredibly so), it didn't mean he was all that excited about sitting around his house with nothing to do. Sure, he could clean; but he was never truly done cleaning and he'd wear all the skin off his fingers before he felt like the house was clean enough. "There's nothing different about today. Its the same as yesterday, and the day before." Mrs. Johnson huffed again, ruffling his hair. "You need to cheer up, you gloomy little man. If you keep on like that, your face will get stuck that way. You're such a pretty child, you really need to smile more. Now. If you insist on working, help me with these pies." She and Levi always preferred to work side by side in silence. It was relaxing and even though he made very little, he found the work enjoyable. He loved watching the plump little woman waddle about, battering and frying chicken and okra or punching out dough for rolls. Currently, he was slicing green apples for apple pies, smothering the pieces in brown sugar, cinnamon and a little bit of brandy. "Your pie filling always tastes better than mine, you know?" She said suddenly. He looked at her incredulously. "How? I make it the same way you showed me." The woman chuckled, brushing flour off of his cheek with a gentle hand.

"I think its because you're hungry when you make it." Levi snorted and rolled his eyes. She wasn't wrong. Usually he was hungry. "I'm not hungry right now, so does that mean it'll taste like dog shit?" Mrs. Johnson laughed, smacking him softly on the arm. "Levi! You really are a brat, you know that?" Levi gave her a sheepish half smile, glad that she at least understood that he'd been joking this time. Mrs. Johnson was another exception to the rule, more because she paid him than because he'd wanted to let her in, but he was glad he did. She was a matronly woman with enough warmth and sass to make up for her smaller stature, and was everything he knew about a mother. "Now then. When you finish with that, be a dear and roll out the dough for the crusts and get a few in the oven, too. I need to go up front and take care of a few customers, I'll be back soon." Levi nodded and left the filling to sit, pulling the large metal bowl from the walkin cooler. He absently spread flour onto the large wooden table, and unwrapped the first disk of pie dough from the plastic wrap. He rolled out the dough until it was large enough and placed it across the pan. He assembled the pie and sat it aside, doing the same for the next several. Mrs. Johnson bustled back and forth with her husband and two sons in tow filling lunch orders. It went like that for several hours. Levi brewed tea, made biscuits, baked pies, made mashed potatoes, and waited on customers when he had a moment and the others were busy. Now was such an occasion. He sat a heaping plate of chicken and dumplings in front of a relatively mild mannered man in his late thirties. His family was boisterous and cheerful, but he hadn't seen them before. "Thanks, kiddo. It's hard to cook when you're in the process of moving in. What's your name?" Levi felt his expression morph from careful neutral to his default uncomfortable scowl. "Sokolof. Why?" He didn't like giving strangers his first name, it felt too personal. "Ah. I'm the new physician. This is my wife Madeline and my daughter Zoe. My name is John Hange. I'd like to say I hope I see more of you, but that usually means you're sick so..." Levi snorted. "Sure, sure. Enjoy your meal. Welcome to Aberdeen and all that."

As he walked away, he tried his best not to limp, not really wanting any more attention from the weird people. It was nearing six o'clock now. The diner wouldn't be open much longer, and then he could spend the rest of his time at home. He actually was looking forward to going to bed. He was tired and content, which was rare for him. In two more hours, the diner would close, they would clean up and he could recieve his pay and go home. It had worked the same way every year for the past two years. Levi jumped slightly when a large hand fell onto his shoulder. "Levi, we have something to give you." Kirk Johnson was a big man with a wine cask chest and a basey voice. Levi dried his hands on the towel nearby and followed Mr. Johnson back towards the break area. When he entered, the room was dark except for a few candles and on the table was a single large cupcake with a candle in the center in the center. "Happy birthday, sugar. We know it isn't much but you always work so hard for us, and we never see you out with your own family, so... we thought we should at least give you this much." Levi stared at the pastry on the table, and was uncertain what to do or say, so he just looked at the people that surrounded him now and chuckled softly. "Thank you... really. Thank you." Mrs. Johnson picked the cupcake up and handed it to him. "Make a wish, Levi." He rolled his eyes, but played along, blowing out the candle. This surely was the best birthday he had ever had.

So, there's chapter two. A little later than I'd said, I know but things got unexpectedly hectic. Anyhow. It seems the narrative is picking up, which I know I'm grateful for. It's hard writing prose when you're so used to writing a history paper. Things should be easier from here on out. Anyway. I just finished this... it's 4:30 am. I'm not in the mood to do my final proof. If you find any glaring typos or something, please tell me.


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